Jude Devine Mystery Series (95 page)

“Operation Condor?” Jude prompted. Even the general public had heard of that.

Finally, a hit. “Way before my time,” Hill noted. “Anyway, that’s CIA.”

“Yes, but it could clue us into who wants that film shut down, if that turns out to be the agenda.” Jude served up a few salient facts. “Barbie’s militia brought down the Torres government in Bolivia. They were called the Fiancés of Death, about six hundred Nazis and neo-Nazis.”

Disbelief clouded Hill’s face. “You’re telling me we sponsored an army of Nazis to bring down a government?”

Jude wanted to ask,
Are you that naïve?
Unable to mask her incredulity fully, she said, “Sure we did. It was a big CIA success story. Torres was a problem. He was nationalizing the holdings of big U.S. companies like Gulf Oil.”

“Well, we know
that’s
an outrage,” Hill said dryly.

“Oh, there’s more. He thought he could stop the Argentinean cartels that ran the cocaine trade, and cocaine is how we funded Condor. So the guy had to go.”

“Okay, now you’re going to tell me he was a democratically elected saint trying to do something about poverty in his country.”

Jude grinned. “Did I forget to mention that? I guess it just seemed so goddamn obvious.”

“This all went down while George H.W. Bush was head of the CIA?” Hill actually sounded disillusioned.

Jude could have rubbed it in with other horror stories from the black ops playbook, but that seemed harsh, so she settled for a simple “Yes” and continued with the coup story. “Barbie’s goon squad slaughtered every dissenter they could find. Journalists, intellectuals, nuns, priests, aid workers, children, housewives. It was a bloodbath. Afterward, they marched through the capital wearing swastika armbands and shouting
Heil Hitler
.”

“That’s what my grandfather died for in the war,” Hill said without expression. “Lovely.”

“No one ever said counterintelligence was a bakeshop.”

Hill’s sharp brown eyes bored into Jude’s. “You know a lot about all of this.”

Jude responded flippantly, “I’m a big reader.”

Hill and her team knew only the thinnest details about the Bureau’s long-term intelligence gathering operation in the Four Corners. They’d simply received the word from above to deal with the threat. Jude wanted to tread carefully so she didn’t blow her own cover with another agent, but she couldn’t resist needling Hill a little. A dose of reality never hurt anyone.

“Well, it’s nasty stuff, but I don’t see how the ricin plot is connected,” Hill said.

“Motive,” Jude reminded her. “If we want to find the brain quotient, we need to know why he got onboard. I don’t know if the film names names, but I can think of one person who doesn’t like explaining why he was in La Paz back then. David Dewhurst.”

“The lieutenant governor of Texas?” Hill shook her head. “He’d never link himself to morons like the ASS. Are you saying he had something to do with Barbie?”

“The coup was a hands-on CIA op and it happened four months after Dewhurst arrived in town. Do the math.”

“No way,” Hill said, clearly thrown. “It would be crazy for him to do something like this.”

“That’s probably true, but we can’t rule him out,” Jude said, teasing Hill with the unhappy prospect of a sensitive circumstances probe.

Hill wasn’t going there. “Who else can we look at?”

“The cocaine trade angle could give us something,” Jude said. She’d been thinking about money-laundering operations ever since her uneasy discussion with Arbiter. “Before you fall off your chair, let me just say this. I’m not really a conspiracy theorist.”

Laughing, Hill invited, “Come on. Thrill me with your insights.”

“The Moon organization was laundering money for the drug cartels back then. Moon was an investor in the Cocaine Coup and he’s bought off a lot of people over the years.”

“It’s past history,” Hill said. “Who cares anymore?”

“Do you think it’s a coincidence that Carlton Sherwood made the swift-boat video about John Kerry?”

“Oh, God.”

“Hear me out. Years ago the very same Carlton Sherwood wrote a book called
Inquisition
about how Moon was being victimized by federal investigators because of his race and religion. The book was part of a strategy to halt inquiries into Moon’s operation.”

“Moon’s evil,” Hill said. “We all know that.”

“Strange how nothing ever sticks to him, don’t you think?”

It was common knowledge that Moon was untouchable. He had served a year behind bars for tax fraud in 1982. Since then he’d continued his illegal activities with impunity.

“He has friends in high places,” Hill said.

“John Kerry investigated the contra-cocaine cover up back then and came up with a heap of incriminating facts,” Jude said. “The report went nowhere, of course.”

“And we ended up with that joke, the ‘war on drugs.’” Hill’s expression was reflective. “A smokescreen, of course?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m just talking to myself. That’s how I deal with panic. I’m following your reasoning and it makes sense. I wish it didn’t.”

“Moon and his pet politicians couldn’t let John Kerry get elected and gain control of the Justice Department,” Jude said.

“So he was swift-boated by the same stooge who defended Moon,” Hill completed.

“Makes you wonder what he would have unearthed, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not sure if I really want to think about that. It’s so goddamn depressing.”

Jude felt the same way. But now that Afghanistan was fast becoming the next narco-state, al-Qaeda was moving a lot of cash and opium. They had to be using experienced money-laundering networks. There were already ties between Muslim extremists and neo-Nazis. Maybe Arbiter was right and Hawke could lead them right to the door of a major network. Jude understood suddenly why he wanted to keep a tight lid on the investigation and behave as though it was completely domestic. If the CIA took over, they would shut it down. The folk who invented contra-entities weren’t about to imperil a promising new source of dirty, invisible money.

As far as the Company was concerned, the citizens they protected failed to understand that freedom did not come free. Counterintelligence agencies had to weigh moral dilemmas on a daily basis. The American public could only see things in black and white. Mention tortured nuns thrown from high windows and they lost their minds.

“You think Moon is behind the Telluride plot?”

“His organization could be lending a hand indirectly.”

“Interesting,” Hill said. “You know we’re investigating that NSM crazy, Bill White, at the moment. He has ties to Moon via the
Washington Times
. He used to write for them.”

“Out racism seems to be a
Times
hiring parameter.” Jude remarked. “The place could be mistaken for a white supremacists’ social club.”

Hill subjected her to a long, hard look. “You’re full of surprises, Detective. I thought we’d spend the whole evening talking about perimeter security and on-the-spot hamburger testing.”

“You seemed to have the logistics covered.”

“What kind of reading do you do that makes you think like an intelligence operative?”

Jude smiled with breezy innocence. “I get everything off the Internet.”

“Bullshit.”

“Didn’t you know? That’s what us hicktown nobodies do in our spare time. We live vicariously through the triumphs of people like yourself.”

Hill stood up, stretched, then settled on the one small sofa in the room. Jude remained at the table. She could feel Hill’s eyes.

“What the hell are you doing wasting yourself out here?” Hill asked. “What happened? Divorce?”

“Burnout,” Jude said. “Just another CACU casualty. There are plenty of us.”

Hill was silent for a few seconds. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“I read your file.”

“You what?”

“Your name came up when we started the investigation. The supervisor said we’d be liaising with a former agent. I wanted to find out if that was a good thing.”

Jude would probably have done the same thing, but still. She waited for what was coming.

Undoing the single braid that held back her hair, Hill said, “A suspension and FFD examination is no joke. What happened?”

“It’s all in there,” Jude said coldly.

“Yes, but I’m asking you.”

“What do you want to hear—that I shot dead a suspect and regret it on a daily basis?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s almost as bad as missing out on genital warts.”

“You have quite a temper, don’t you, Detective?”

“Does it say that in my psych evaluation?”

“I’m sensing a certain hostility in you.”

Jude stood and gathered up her notes. “If you’re done testing me, I need to get some sleep. I have an autopsy first thing tomorrow.”

“Was it about your brother?” Hill probed. “The child you found in that apartment bore some resemblance. Twelve years old. Blond.”

“What do you want from me, Hill?”

Hill abandoned the sofa and approached her in stocking feet. She was shorter than Jude by several inches. Standing just out of reach, she said, “I’m sorry if I touched a sore spot.”

“No, you’re not.”

Jude had almost forgotten what it was like having to respond to inquisitions from briefcase-holders. She made brief eye contact with Hill and felt almost sorry for her. Hill’s mission was as much about making the Bureau look good as protecting the public. If she put a foot wrong she could forget advancement. She would spend the rest of her career in a dead-end job like media spokesperson. In the priesthood of the Bureau, a female agent couldn’t afford to make mistakes. Something in Hill’s eyes told Jude she thought she was looking at one.

“Listen,” Jude said without rancor. “If you want me off the team, just say the word. Plenty of cops round here would love to take my place.”

“How many of them are FBI trained snipers?” Hill replied.

“You really did your homework.” Jude tried to show unconcern. Arbiter said anyone checking up on her would find nothing in her personnel file. Officially, she was just another former agent.

“Why didn’t you simply take a leave of absence?” Hill pressed. “You had cause. If you wanted out of Crimes Against Children, you could have transferred.”

“If you must know, Bureau politics make me sick,” Jude said. In a way, it was true. If she hadn’t found a home in counterterrorism, she would have quit. “Stand-up agents die the death of a thousand paper cuts if they rock the boat, while C-graders ass-lick their way into senior management. Big bonuses, no accountability.”

“You’re a maverick.” Hill bit off the remark as if she’d given accidental voice to a thought.

“And you’re to the Bureau born,” Jude replied. The phrase was often used by agents, sometimes ironically.

Hill took it for a compliment, which it was in a way. “I like to think so.”

In the poor lighting of the room, her features seemed softer than they were at the restaurant. Or perhaps it was late and she wasn’t guarding herself so rigidly. Her eyelids drooped, the lashes slowly fanning down as she blinked. When she forgot to compress her mouth, her lips were full and tempting. Jude watched a slight change-up in her breathing and knew Hill was aware of her, too.